


Dean has a Fetish

by cakeisnotpie



Series: HunterHawk (Clint Barton and Dean Winchester) [3]
Category: Avengers, Supernatural
Genre: Fetish, Food Kink, Food Sex, M/M, Pie, avengers/supernatural cross over
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-05
Updated: 2012-11-05
Packaged: 2017-11-18 01:58:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/555612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cakeisnotpie/pseuds/cakeisnotpie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Clint needs Dean's help  and brings pie .... chocolate AND cherry.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Dean has a Fetish

**Author's Note:**

> This is a one shot and takes place sometime after "Sometimes You Get What You Need." I totally blame Katya for her question about pie. And I have NO regrets. :)))))

“Where did you find that burger?”

Dean crumpled up the waxed paper his double cheese mushroom burger had been wrapped in and shot it into the trash can.  Snagging one of the last remaining garlic potato wedges, he sank back into the chair.

“Little place on the edge of town. Guy at the gas station recommended it. Actually, it was a butcher shop with a little diner attached.” Clint was finishing his notes; he’d picked Dean’s brain about the power of alphas, concerned that H.Y.D.R.A. was gathering blood samples from various monsters for genetic manipulation.  Reaching for the bag on the floor, he pulled out a white box and slid it onto the small hotel room table. “Next door was a bakery. Best pie in town, I hear.”

“Pie? You brought pie? Dude,” Dean’s eyes lit up as Clint opened the box. “What kind?”

“I couldn’t decide. So half is cherry and the other is chocolate silk. Oh, and some whipped cream to go with it.” There were plates and folks too, and he had a plastic server provided by the store. “I figured you’d like one of them.”

“It’s pie, Clint.” Dean’s voice was almost reverent as he served himself a piece of cherry pie. “Bring on the whipped cream, man.”  The first forkful of pie went into his mouth; he closed his eyes as the sweet but slight bite of cherry hit his taste buds. “Oh, god, that’s good.”

When Dean opened his eyes, Clint was staring at him, fork of chocolate pie halfway to his mouth, arousal unmistakable in his blue-green eyes.  Taking another bite, Dean slid the fork in his mouth, feeling the juice dribbling from the corner of his lips; he swallowed, and then caught the excess with his thumb, sucking it into his mouth to lick it clean, all the while keeping his eyes on Clint.

“Aren’t you going to eat that?” he asked all innocence. Sam had left just after Clint called to do some ‘research,’ and Dean hadn’t been entirely sure how to play the situation. But, damn it, Clint had brought him pie.

Clint ate the bite and dropped his fork back onto his plate. “I was going to be good, all business.”

“Bullshit. You brought cheeseburger and pie. You knew exactly what you were doing.”  Dean challenged.

“Yeah, I admit I was thinking about it when I got the whipped cream. And the chocolate pie.”  He skimmed his forefinger through the chocolate pie and offered it to Dean. “Want a taste?”

Dean leaned over and sucked the sweet filling off. “Pretty good, but I think the cherry is better. And whipped cream is sticky, by the way.”  He scooped up some cherry filling; Clint caught his wrist and licked every finger clean, then kissed his palm.

They stood at the same time, reaching for each other. Clint tangled his hand in Dean’s shirt as Dean’s hand wrapped around Clint’s neck, tilting his head back; lips came together in a rush, noses bumping, as they shoved chairs back. Dean had missed the taste of Clint, the feel of his taut muscles under his hand as he splayed his fingers on Clint’s chest; he’d never admit it, but he still dreamed about the time they’d spent together, waking up with a raging hard-on that he hid from Sam. Sometimes, he’d end up stroking himself until he came, imaging Clint was the one touching him.

“Why do you wear so many damn shirts,” Clint grumbled as he pushed the first of Dean’s shirts off his shoulders.  Laughing, they undressed each other, taking the opportunity to caress as their fingers brushed bare skin.  Dean maneuvered Clint back against the edge of the bed, and Clint obligingly sat down to kick off his boots while Dean shed his.

“Did I tell you how much I love pie?” Dean asked, picking up the plate and taking another big bite. “Sam calls it a fetish, says I’d rather eat pie than have sex.  Never understood why I can’t do both at the same time.” 

Clint leaned back on his elbows, already hard and erect, stomach muscles tight as he held himself up. “The cherries are going to leave a stain,” he complained, scooting back from the edge.

“You could have gotten apple, so you’re going to have to come up with some story to tell your team.”  Dean had no sympathy for Clint as he balanced the half-eaten pie on Clint’s abdomen. With a wicked look, Dean rooted in the bag, pulling out the whipped cream.  He broke the pie into pieces with the fork, spreading cherry filling up to Clint’s nipples and down to the curls of his hair. Shaking the bottle, Dean squirted the cream on top of the red, oozing mess, the cold cream making Clint jump.  “Damn it to hell, Clint. You really do look fucking good enough to eat.”

He dropped down onto the bed beside Clint, lowered his mouth to Clint’s nipple, covered with filling and cream, and began eating.  Tongue first, flicking across the sensitive nub as he caught some cherries, and Clint’s head fell back with a groan. Then open mouth pressed to Clint’s chest, sucking lightly to get all the juice and bits of crust, teeth closing around the nipple and tugging lightly. 

“Good god, Dean,” Clint said, hooded eyes watching every move of Dean’s mouth as he shifted to the other nipple, cleaning it off, the taste of cherries and Clint filling his mouth.  Between bites, Dean wiped his mouth with his hand, catching juice on his fingers and then tracing Clint’s lips with the sweet and sour flavor.

“It’s only half a piece. Quit bitching.” Dean made his way to Clint’s belly button and pushed a cherry into the indentation before his tongue curled around it, dipping in to get all the bits, catching it with his teeth. Writhing beneath Dean’s mouth, Clint ground out some choice words about Dean’s method of eating pie, and Dean enjoyed every single second of it, the delicious dessert and Clint’s anxiousness. Clint was achingly hard, liquid leaking when Dean lifted his head and arched a brow; Clint shook his head.

“Dean, that’s going to be a sticky mess …” the words cut off as Dean’s thumb and forefinger circled the engorged base of Clint’s cock before he lapped up the last dribble of cherries then circled his sticky tongue around the velvety head.  Sugar mixed with salt as he spread the pearly liquid along the cleft. Lips parted he sucked the length of Clint’s cock into his mouth, cupping his balls with his other hand, squeezing.

Holding Clint steady, Dean slicked him up with his mouth, pushing down until the head bumped the back of his throat, and then pulling up, hollowing his cheeks with the pressure.  One finger slid further down and circled the tight puckered muscle, teasing Clint mercilessly, as Clint thrust upwards into Dean’s mouth.  He kept the exquisite torture going as Clint’s breathing hitched, his mouth open  and head hung back, kept the wet heat of his mouth moving until he could feel the muscles of Clint’s abs straining, arching , readying for a climax.

“Not yet,” Dean pulled his mouth away, reaching behind him on the floor for his jeans. “There’s chocolate silk to deal with.”

Clint caught his arm and flipped Dean over, trapping him beneath him. “The chocolate’s mine, remember? And no calling bullshit when you had this in your pocket.” Opening Dean’s hand, he took the tube of lube and tossed it on the bed. He reached back to the table for the slice of chocolate pie; taking a handful of the meringue and filling, he wrapped his whole hand around Dean’s cock, slathering the cool stuff from root to tip.  Then he sat back and licked the remains off of his fingers and palm; Dean watched as each finger was covered by Clint’s lips and sucked in, his tongue cleaning between each.  Clint slipped off the bed and he knelt on the floor, catching Dean’s knees and pulling him to the edge, spreading his thighs apart so Dean was fully exposed.  “Don’t close your eyes. I want you to watch.”

Dean could feel the intensity in Clint’s eyes, heart speeding up as he tensed in anticipation; Clint’s hands flexed on Dean’s thighs, digging in and anchoring him wide open.  The moment drew out and Dean thought he might come without Clint even touching him, but then Clint’s tongue began to lick the pie off of him, and Dean was sure he was going to explode right there. That damn tongue, curling around him, lapping at the sensitive head, lips sucking every last bit of skin, pulling against the underside. He jumped when Clint ran his tongue to catch up some of the last scraps and moved up Dean’s body, sexy challenging smile that made Dean want to roll him over and fuck him until Clint screamed, but all he could do was open his mouth and taste his own salty pre-come mixed with chocolate and Clint as he kissed him.

“Top or bottom?”  Clint offered as he grabbed the tube. Sticky cocks rubbed against each other as he moved and Dean could barely think to answer the question.

“Get your fucking cock inside me. I get to fuck you senseless in the shower later.”

“Holy hell, Dean,” Clint dropped the cap and lube squirted onto Dean’s chest. “Talk like that and I’m going to have to fuck you in the damn pie shop, customers be damned.” 

“Just fuckin’ hurry.” Dean lifted his hips up off the bed and started to slide away from the edge, but Clint grabbed his hips and held him in place; he propped Dean up on pillows until he was the right height, and then Clint settled on his heels.

“Want to see you come,” Clint said, and Dean lost all ability to think as Clint bent and circled Dean’s hole with his tongue.

“Clint.” Dean’s hands twisted the ugly orange bedspread at the sensation. “Fuck. Yes. Damn it.” Fingers spread him and that wet tongue pushed inside; Dean’s cock jerked and leaked, the invasion so erotic and hot that he couldn’t stand it and had to beg. “Clint.”

The man had the balls to chuckle as he replaced his tongue with a greasy finger. “A pie shop, Dean. One of those glass counters with racks of pies.”  The twist and push was designed to drive Dean crazy, and it certainly worked.  Each twirl, brushing against the sides, roused him; he moved into the push, hips jolting. A second finger worked in and Clint scissored them, forcing Dean open. “Face down, Dean, so you can see the pies while I fuck you.”  He rose up on his knees, slathered more lube on his own cock, groaning as he touched himself. “Make you come all over the glass while I’m buried inside of you. And everyone can watch.”

“Motherfucking son of a ….” Dean’s climax hit him, almost painful , torn from deep in his gut, long ropey strands shooting over his stomach; just as he hit the peak, Clint pushed his cock inside, and a second, even more powerful spasm wracked Dean.  Thrusts pushed him back into the bed as Clint wrapped his arms under Dean’s legs and bent him almost double; Dean could feel each plunge even as he continued to come, shudders shaking him, intense and overwhelming.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck you,” Clint chanted as he rocked back and forth, finally impaling himself deep and hard inside as he shouted Dean’s name.

“What the hell was that?” Dean groaned, pinned beneath Clint’s weight; sticky, slick, and decidedly uncomfortable, he nudged Clint’s shoulder.

“That was a bonafide fetish.” Clint laughed as he lifted up on his hands, slipping out of Dean. “You, Dean Winchester, have a pie fetish.”

“You have some in your hair.” Dean managed a weak smile at the sight of the white meringue.

“Guess I’ll have to take a shower then.” Clint’s eyes sparkled.

“Another slice of pie first. I’m not sixteen anymore. Going to need to fuel up for round two.”  Dean looked longingly at the box on the table. “Heat it up in the microwave. Warm cherry pie.”  The gleam in the green eyes matched Clint’s. “That is, if you don’t have to head out that soon.”

“Morning’s soon enough.” With a proffered hand, Clint helped Dean sit up, and then opened the box. 


End file.
